


Housewarming

by inactivelyverby



Category: Original Work
Genre: Exophilia, F/M, Monster Boyfriend, Reader Insert, fae, faerie - Freeform, male fae, readerXfae, readerXmonster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inactivelyverby/pseuds/inactivelyverby
Summary: A story written for a prompt on Tumblr (prompt originatedhere), and written for the exophilia/terato community.The first chapter(s) are sfw, but the rating WILL eventually go up when we get to the good stuff.  Any chapters with explicit material will be marked.  I have no clue how long this will be, best I can suggest is buckle up and enjoy the ride!Prompt(shortened, please visit above link for full prompt): Reader x Fae - A ring of mushrooms, recently grew in your backyard. Feeling a touch whimsical, you bundle up some of the fresh fruit and herbs from your garden, and wrap them delicately in leaves, depositing them, and a few of your favorite flowers, within the circle. You think nothing of it, as you head back inside, having simply enjoyed indulging your sense of whimsy. The next morning when you come out however, you find a beautiful bracelet set just outside the circle, gently wrapped in a leaf. Your offerings are nowhere to be seen, and as you live quite a way from town, in a rather hard to access area, it instantly has you curious and wary.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	Housewarming

You were one of _those_. One of those that people say live with their head in the clouds, that are unrealistic, fanciful. Odd. As a child it was endearing, living life as if it were a fairytale in the making; always waiting for your knight in shining armor, kissing frogs in search of a prince, even a few ruined dresses from sitting under trees waiting for unicorns... though your mother didn’t find much endearing about that at the time. At least once when you’d thrown a tantrum and escaped into the woods you’d gone in search for every mushroom circle you could find and jumped into them, sobbing pitifully at each failed attempt.

There wasn’t a fairytale you didn’t know nearly by heart, and while most little girls your age played House or Tea Party, you chose to play out Little Red Riding Hood. You were absolutely positive _something_ magical and wonderful would happen on your eighteenth birthday because isn’t that when it almost always happened in all your stories? You thought you brushed off the disappointment well when it came and went with nothing more spectacular than a cake. 

Somewhere along the way, those things that had made you a quirky and imaginative child now set you apart from your peers, and more oft than not you’re described as bizarre and eccentric, immature and unwilling to grow up. An assessment you felt extremely unfair, given the decently paying job you’d had for a couple of years now, the quaint but sturdy house on the outskirts of town you’d just bought, and while your bright yellow Vespa wasn’t exactly conventional, it was paid off.

Yet despite these ‘milestones of adulthood’, the fact that you would leave crystals on your windowsill during full moons to charge, or periodically leave cookies and milk with honey on your back patio as gifts for any Fair Folk that might pass by one day, is met with derision and snide jokes. You tell yourself there’s no harm in holding on to the belief that there’s magic to be found in this world, and that you don’t really give two flips what everyone thinks… but then sometimes you’d wonder that if that’s true, why can’t you remember the last time you’d done some of those things? Perhaps the opinions of others had begun to have a teensy effect on your old habits...

It wasn’t an accident that you’d chosen where you live now. You’d lived in this town your whole life and like most small ‘everyone knows everyone’ towns, while growing up yours too had that creepy lady that lived in the even creepier house. A crazy witch lady, they whispered, that would gobble up naughty children who walked too close to her gate, or picked the berries that grew wild and rampant along the edge of her property. Highly effective deterrents for _normal_ children. For you, it was fodder for your fantasies.

When as an adult a ‘For Sale’ sign popped out front you scrambled for the opportunity to buy it, ignoring the signs of neglect in recent years in lieu of grasping at something that once held so much wonder for you. And hey, you may not be a professional by any means, but you know your way around a tool box well enough to fix a lot of the damage you saw, so it was absolutely worth it in the end.

Pooling all the vacation and personal time you could, you were able to take off work for a month, time enough to move in and spend some quality time fixing the place up. By the end of the first week you’d made a solid attempt at unpacking, evidenced by the haphazard piles of packing paper and half full cardboard boxes strewn about the place.

Organization was _not_ your strong suit, and coupled with your penchant for being easily sidetracked your progress came in sporadic bursts, but slowly you started to make the space your own. Perhaps if your attention hadn’t kept being drawn to the small garden out back you wouldn’t still be living out of boxes at the start of the second week, but your fingers had been itching to get out there and show the weeds who was boss, and after being denied a proper garden for years you finally caved. Digging through a few boxes until you’d found something appropriate to work outside in, and dutifully ignoring the clothes you’d left strewn about for Future You to deal with, you head out back with no small amount of glee.

It was obvious that even in the last years that someone had lived here, while the house had been mostly left to fall into disrepair, the garden had been dutifully and lovingly cared for. What bit needed to be pulled up, replanted, or simply coaxed back to life couldn’t have been more than half a year’s neglect, and it pleases you immensely to know that you will be continuing to show the area the same love and attention the previous owner had given it.

During your battle with the vegetation you have a few interesting finds, like a low bird bath that you scrub clean and fill with fresh water, and at least two dollhouses you assume had been converted to birdhouses, tucked between the blackberry bushes at the back of the yard. They weren’t huge, but they were definitely a bit upscale for a sparrow in your opinion, and a bit pointless to have them sitting on the ground. But, whether or not they would stay or be mounted higher up somewhere, much like the pile of clothes you’d left inside on your bed, that would be a problem for Future You. 

Dragging a dirt caked wrist across your sweaty forehead you stand up and take a step back, a tired but satisfied smile gracing your features at seeing the substantial chunk you’d knocked out of the weeding and pruning. Hands braced on your hips you lean back to stretch out cramped muscles before slumping in relief when you hear your lower back pop. With a huff you look around and assess what still needs to be done, gaze wandering to the setting sun and decide here is as good a place as any to stop for the day.

Besides, there’s a case of beer in the fridge with your name on it, and you can think of no better way to finish off the day than by tossing back two or six while enjoying the sunset on your porch.

After washing up and changing into something more comfortable (the ever growing pile of clothes on the bed once again dutifully ignored), you gather up your liquid reward along with a box of cookies… dinner of champions. Tossing a blanket over your shoulders you shuffle back outside and flop onto the porch swing, wriggling under the plush throw until you’re comfortable before digging into your ‘dinner’.

As you lay there stretched out and gently swaying, drowsily watching both the stars and fireflies blink into existence as if answering each others’ calls, the cicadas begin with their cacophonous symphony that seems to resonate in your very soul. Breathing in the honeysuckle-sweetened air, you let out a content sigh that you feel you’ve been holding onto for years. Life might not have turned out to be the childhood fantasy you’d always wished for, but moments like this made it impossible to believe there wasn’t magic still to be found in the world.

That thought gives you pause as you take a long sip and nearly finish off your beer, the rich stout complimenting the buttery sweetness of your sugar cookies. With an indulgent smirk you roll off the swing, snagging a few of the cookies along with the bottle cap to your drink. Bouncing on unicorn slippered feet you wind your way to the back of the garden to one of the birdhouses, tittering as you sway a bit too far to the left when you crouch down.

_Maybe I should have eaten something a bit more substantial than a sleeve of cookies today…_ , you muse, not normally such a lightweight. Shrugging it off you run your hand across the grass until you find a sizable leaf, placing the cookies on top of it in front of the doorway to the little house, the bottle cap sat next to it to be filled with a pinch of your beer. 

“Drink up neighbors, this'll be our little housewarming party!” Biting your lip as another giggle bubbles up at your random act of silliness, you roll back onto your heels, barely saving yourself from planting your ass in the dirt. With a snort you manage to stand up, bottle raised in a small salute. “Don’t drink it all at once though, it’s apparently the good shit.”

Another sip as you meander back to your seat and the bottle is drained, bottle number two opened and at your lips before you’d hardly covered back up again. Head flopping back comfortably you sway once more, absentmindedly trying to keep the swing in sync with the cicadas’ song while nursing your drink.

Lazily you smile and muse to yourself that they seem just a bit louder than they were a few minutes ago… the fireflies a tad brighter, and while you could easily blame the second beer you’ve nearly polished off in record time, you tell yourself it’s merely as you like to say, _’The world is always brighter when you add a bit of magic to it.‘_

* * *

“Ow…”, is your first waking thought, and it rasps from your dry throat as you roll over to bury your face into the pillow in a fruitless attempt to escape the obnoxiously cheery sunlight streaming through the windows. The cool surface of the pillow is a balm to the pounding hangover you’re sporting, though as it ebbs away you groan and gingerly push yourself to sit up, blearily taking in your bedroom as you rub the crust from your eyes. It takes a moment but it finally hits you, hands falling to your lap and suddenly you are wide awake, squinting in confusion.

_Wait… when the hell did I crawl my ass to bed???_

Ignoring the fact that your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton you wrack your brain trying to remember but keep pulling up blank. You’d knocked out four of your six beers and annihilated most of the cookies, _that_ you remembered, but as far as you could figure you’d blissfully passed out on the porch swing, intent on closing your eyes just for a moment. You snort at that and instantly regret it, cringing at the way the noise scratches your throat.

You need water. And aspirin. And a massive plate of bacon and eggs. Maybe pancakes. Oh gods, and coffee, yes! Blessed coffee! Mysteries of drunken sleepwalking could wait, you require grease and carbs and caffeine.

With that motivation you drag your feet over the edge of the bed and sit there a minute, partially to muster the strength for the arduous twenty some-odd steps to the kitchen, partially to wait for the room to stop spinning. You very nearly knock over the glass of water sitting on your bedside table when you reach out to use it to steady yourself, and your stomach flips at the momentary panic it causes before you catch it. Hand on your chest you puff out a shaky breath and wait for your stomach to settle, taking a few sips before carefully setting it back down… far, _far_ away from the edge.

Despite obviously not remembering putting it there, you appreciate the forethought Past You had shown. For once. Shoving yourself up to your feet with a groan you shuffle your way out of the bedroom towards the promise of a wholly unhealthy breakfast.

It takes about two steps past your doorway before it finally clicks and you come to a screeching halt. Confusion plastered across your face you turn on your heel and quick-shuffle back into your bedroom, bewildered gaze raking over the place. Ignoring the way the room spins when you squat down to look under the bed and find nothing, your brow knits as you stand and nudge at the empty box on the floor at the foot of the bed.

At a loss, you walk over and poke your head into the closet, breath catching before a nervous chuckle slips past your lips. Sidestepping to your dresser you pull open the top drawer and stare silently. At your clothes. The piles of them you’d left tossed across your bed, the ones you’d left still to be unpacked, all of them, were either hung up neatly in the closet or immaculately folded and put away in the drawers. Standing there staring at underwear that offer no explanations, you finally give a weak _"huh"_ then simply close the drawer and head towards the kitchen without a backward glance.

_Mysteries aren’t meant to be settled before coffee._

You’d done well ignoring the thoughts flitting about your brain while making breakfast, trying to piece together an explanation. Especially since things had only gotten weirder the longer you were awake. As you absentmindedly gnaw on a piece of bacon, you try to remember when you unpacked the kitchen. Or when you threw away the empty beer bottles, or put the remaining two back in the fridge. You briefly considered throwing them away, absolutely convinced something was buggy about them.

If anything though, you desperately wished you could remember where you’d put the damn cookies! They were the one thing you couldn’t seem to find, and they were your last box until you could find some lucky Girl Scout to assist with making her sales goal in one hit.

Not wanting to spend any more time than necessary in the house you unceremoniously dump the dirty dishes in the sink to save for later, quickly changing out of your nighties before making your escape out back into the garden for the day. You tell yourself that it isn’t because of all the crazy shit that happened overnight, reasoning that it _had_ to have been you. That, or the weirdest backwards catburglar in the world. Silently you vow never to buy that particular brand of beer again.

At least the weather is cooperating, a pleasant surprise given that the mid-March norm is typically rain and more rain. Instead there isn’t a cloud to be found in the azure sky, the sun just high enough to lend its warmth to the early spring air so that you were plenty comfortable in your tank top and capris, padding barefoot along the brick walkway to the back of the garden. 

While at breakfast, you’d convinced yourself to at least attempt to balance your recent unhealthy dietary choices with a few pieces of fruit, though your conscience had been easily pacified with half an orange on the condition that the rest be left to your little garden neighbors. Seemed perfectly reasonable to you, as it left more room for an extra couple pieces of bacon.

Winding your way through the raised garden boxes that are on your hit list for today you hop-skip off the end of the walkway, reveling in the way the cool grass feels between your toes; years of apartment living had robbed you of little joys like this and you are absolutely eating them up! Crouching down in front of the ‘birdhouse’ you hadn’t left gifts for last night, intent on keeping things fair and even, you snag the closest leaf and artfully arrange the orange slices, fanning them out just so.

With a satisfied grin you brace your hands against your knees to stand, a quick glance at the neighboring birdhouse turning into a double look so quickly you have to backpedal to keep from pitching forward. Solid footing claimed once more you sidestep closer, hesitantly squatting in front of it with a wary eye on the neatly folded bundle of leaves in front of it where you’d left the cookies last night. Gingerly peeling the leaves open your eyes bug at the contents before your head whips up to look around, immediately concerned and suspicious that someone may be in your backyard. Neck craning to look this way and that and heart racing a bit more than you’d like, nothing else looks to be out of place… gate still closed, nobody seemingly waiting to pounce while you’re distracted.

Gaze flitting back to the tiny gift, you carefully pick out the contents and spread them on your open palm for a closer look: a couple interesting buttons, an acorn, a dried rosebud, and what looked to be a pristine quartz crystal point as big as your pinky finger. Your eyes light up at that in particular, a nervous giggle slipping out as you hold it up to the sun, marveling at its perfection. Biting at your bottom lip your “ _reasonable_ ” side that insists someone is playing an oddly specific prank on you wars with your eternally optimistic and decidedly fanciful heart. Another quick glance around tells you nothing more than before and your lips purse, eyeing the birdhouse suspiciously. Mentally shrugging, you tell yourself you’re being silly but hell if you’re not going to be cautious. Still, you express your gratitude with a hushed murmur, only feeling marginally ridiculous.

“How kind of you to consider me, I’ll be sure to cherish these.”

**Rule #1, be courteous and appreciative but by gods don’t outright say thank you!** With a gentle pat to the house you roll back onto your heels, trying not to be too obvious as you hustle just a bit faster than normal back to the house to deposit your gifts.


End file.
